


Shine

by Nitzer



Category: VICTON (Band)
Genre: Drinking Games, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, Lots and lots of build up, M/M, Mutual Pining, but like it's not that bad of a gap, hanse cockblocks at least once, hanse keeps showing up bc i love writing him, lots of near misses, lots of pining, the age gap is addressed, whispers of 2seung
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-08-29 23:06:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16753186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nitzer/pseuds/Nitzer
Summary: It takes a lot of near misses and a confession for Chan to finally trust himself but Subin's so trusting and so precious it's really hard to make that leap.Or Subin tries a million different things to get Chan to kiss him (even up to "teach me how to kiss, hyung").





	Shine

**Author's Note:**

> i probably fucked up the rules of "never have i ever" for plot reasons and also bc i don't get the game to begin with

My whole relationship with Subin was always stained with some misguided sense of guilt. It’s the age difference. It’s the disparity in our levels of experience. It’s the way he looks up at me with glittery, wide eyes. It’s his stumbling cuteness, his shy laughter. It’s hard to remember it’s only four years between us then. It’s hard to feel like I’m doing anything other than a really terrible job babysitting, like I’m taking advantage of him.

I feel better when he’s with Sejun who’s only a year younger than me but is such a baby himself I never feel like he could take advantage of Subin. Or when he’s with Hanse who’s maybe a bad influence but not malicious. Or Seungwoo or Seungsik who pamper and praise him without ulterior motives. (I don’t have ulterior motives either, I have to remind myself. I’m just taking care of him too.) Subin just isn’t as vulnerable with anyone else. He doesn’t look at anyone else with such wide, trusting eyes. I had all the opportunity to _get_ to Subin, to hurt him, to do something wrong. And it was hard to trust myself with that.

The, frankly creepy, “the group as a family” thing that the company and the fans pushed on us wasn’t helping either. It gave incestuous overtones to a situation I already found uncomfortable. He was supposed to be “like a brother” not the actual fucking thing. The family concept is wrong and terrible for a lot of reasons completely unrelated to Subin, though. We all have to stretch or pretend to fit into our assigned roles and even though we all really love each other, the roles slip more often than they stick. Seungwoo is a good leader because he’s steady and sturdy and unbelievably reliable—he’d probably die for any one of us if he had to—but he was a pretty shitty dad. He was the baby of his family and too used to acting cute and whining to get his way and the stress of actually being charge was obviously eating away at him. Seungsik was good at chores and liked caring for the other members and really, really like being Seungwoo’s partner (just…in anything) but he was too aggressive and lost his temper too easily. He wasn’t nurturing enough or kind enough or truly soft enough to be a good mom. Subin sure was cute enough to be a youngest son but he was unbending and steadfast and determined like an _adult_. He was an _adult_. And I especially, especially hated getting labeled as “Subin’s mom.” It left me feeling slimy and gross whenever I spent time with him alone (because maybe things weren’t entirely familial anymore).

Subin showed up fresh-faced, younger than expected, unbelievably cute and ridiculously driven. He also came with a cat. I was good with the cat and I liked Jaws and I took care of him almost as much as Subin did. So I guess was more “Jaws’ mom” than Subin’s. So we were working together and living together and raising a pet together, of course we were close. I wasn’t his mom, though. We were more equal, we were friends. The whole family thing fell apart once you got past Sejun, anyway. I mean, where the fuck did Hanse fit in? What was his role in the family?

So I avoided the whole family thing, for my own sanity and also because it was more obviously just _not_ _true_ when you lived it every day. I tried my best to treat everyone as friends anyway because that’s what they _were_ and even the age gap between Seungwoo and Subin wasn’t too drastic. So the guilt was _misguided_ and I tried to remember that. I was trying my best with Subin (even if trusting and glittery eyes got caught in my dreams sometimes, got caught in my fantasies).

It’s a _misplaced_ sense of guilt that tears through my when Subin shows up at the door of my shared room with my shitty, plastic skateboard in his hand. “Teach me?” He asks, part bashful and part playful, giving me a crooked smile that shows off his prominent canine.

It should be normal. There’s nothing weird about Subin wanting to learn how to skateboard. There’s nothing weird about me teaching him. But my heart melts at his smile and the air feels electric in a way that’s _not_ normal.

I take him down to a park by the river anyway because maybe if I treat this whole thing like it’s normal (like the air never crackled with anything that I _felt_ on my skin), then it will be. I park myself on a grassy area by the sidewalk, happy to just watch.

Subin has the straw of his strawberry milk tea resting against his lip, looking down skeptically at the board. I tell myself that it’s the cute, pastel pink of the drink that keeps drawing my eyes towards his mouth (it’s a bad excuse). “So what do I do?” He asks, his foot barely resting on the board. It’s weird to have those glittering, trusting eyes looking down at me but it still makes my heart feel the same way (fizzy, tingly, warm, scared).

“You just go.” I tell him simply, trying not to look as awestruck and lovesick as I feel.

“’Just go’?” He laughs but he’s confident enough to start pushing the board back and forth a bit.

“Yeah, it’s mostly balance and you’re a dancer already. You’ll be fine.”

He puts more weight on the board and I watch it start to slide forward with panic. “Actually,” I blurt to make him stop or slow down, anything to stop the imminent face plant I’m watching in slow motion, “let me help.” I plant my foot in front of the board to keep it from rolling. “Getting on is the hardest part.” I hold his waist lightly, just to keep his steady, my hands barely catching on the material of his hoodie. The less I touched him, the better I felt, the more I could argue that I was just helping and not _indulging_ myself.

“Catch me if I fall?” He asks, a layer of playful cuteness over the genuine vulnerability. His fucked-up canine barely glinting under the streetlights, the only tooth really visible in the soft and trusting smile inches from my face. And the way that he so easily and readily places himself in my hands forces me to wonder if, my hands hovering over his waist, this is only a tease for myself. (And that’s a line of thought that’s too dangerous to really pursue, one that fuels suffocating “what ifs” and late night fantasies that leave me feeling slimy and unclean.)

It’s almost better to spend late nights with Subin than without him because the fantasies are soft, bordering on acceptable, drowning in the warmth of him being so close. With Subin squashed against me in the backseat of the dimmed van, most of the other members asleep, I was only thinking about running my fingers through his hair and falling asleep to the sound of his heartbeat. And that’s almost acceptable, it’s all warm affection, it’s all safe things that he offers up to me anyway. (But even then I can’t always take what he offers up because I’m scared he doesn’t always really know what he’s offering.)

Subin tucks himself into my side, leaning into me, murmuring excitedly about whatever. He’s unbelievably and painfully cute—soft and sleepy, trying to keep his voice low so he won’t wake up the other members—next to me. He has one of my hands clasped in his, drawing patterns over my skin to occupy himself. “Hyung, what should I do if I have a problem?” He asks, quiet and bashful. It’s the glittery, vulnerable, open trust he frequently shows me that makes it hard to even trust myself.

“Depends on the problem.” I respond lightly because I know he gets stuck on little things easily. Solving problems with Subin was mostly unsticking him from his own mind and simplifying things.

“What about like a feelings problem?” He asks delicately, eyes glued to our interlaced hands.

“Definitely don’t talk to Hanse about it then.” I snort. “He’s allergic to feelings or afraid of them or something, any way he won’t listen to you.”

He laughs with me. “I wouldn’t even try.”

“You should talk to someone, though.” I tell him softer, more practically.

 “What if I’m not ready to tell the person that I want to talk to the most?” He finally turns his eyes up to me, shining and hopeful.

The air crackles again—dangerous and full of implications. My breath catches in my throat and I can finally feel every inch of the pattern he drew over my hand like a trail of fire over my skin. And I can’t tear my eyes away from his and I know that I’m standing on a precipice here. I know I’m right on the edge but I don’t know what’s at the bottom of this either. So I take the easy way out. “You should try talking to Seungwoo then.” I breathe out. (And even in that I’m implicating myself, I’m tangling myself up in the situation by offering up Seungwoo, presumably in my place.)

He drops his eyes and the air finally loses the thick tension that made it impossible to breathe. He never lets go of my hand, though, even on the way up to the dorms.

And suddenly it’s not just late night, as secluded as we could be from the others. Then it’s public, under harsh fluorescents, in front of not only the others but Alices too. And it’s a little bit horrifying to have everything dragged out into the open like this, to lose control like this with cameras on me. It’s a cute, more or less informal fanmeet inside some auditorium somewhere. The Alices are asking questions and being entertained by Hanse repeating some mispronounced or slurred word in his aegyo voice. I’m watching from the table behind them because no one’s asked a question I had to answer yet.

Subin’s next to me, smiling brightly after one of the fans asked about Jaws before he comes back to his spot next to me. There have been plenty of questions for Subin already but he keeps drifting back here, next to me, after a little bit on the stage. He keeps shuffling through the pile of presents fans left with him. He settles on a paper crown a young fan gave him, covered glitter and plastic gems. He turns it over in his hands a couple times before turning to me.

The air gets heavier once his eyes meet mine. They’re glinting and playful and there’s still enough air to _breathe_ but it’s hard—even harder with an audience. He places the paper crown gently on my head, turning it so that most of the plastic gems sit on the front of my head. When he lets his hands drop, the smile finally spreads on his face. It’s not tempting—not _dangerous_ —this time, it’s contented and pleased. He looks like he’s won something, like he’s been proven right. And I don’t know what I’ve done, what’s so different this time that it doesn’t burn. Unless the faint snap of camera shutters is what Subin is so excited about, immortalizing this moment.

He points at a flower crown on the other side of me and bows his head, making it clear what he wants. And it is so different to give Subin what he wants because he’s _implied_ it and not because I think it’s what’s best for him or he asks for it. My fingers close around the crown anyway because the air is thick and my judgment is impaired and he’s looking at me like he’s already won. My fingers run through his hair on the way down from his head, it’s soft even through all the product. And his smile melts into something pleased and sunshiney but my gaze is still drawn to the one sharp tooth and the air is crackling with something undefined.

The click of camera shutters gets louder and so does the crowd, screams and coos mixed in with the general reactions I was hearing before. And I’m sure my stunned and awed face, looking at Subin’s pleased smile is already plastered over fansites. And it’s concrete, it’s _real_. I’ll get this sensation of breathlessness, of danger, of standing on the precipice shoved back in my face anytime I try to look myself up on the internet. Subin’s pleased smile never really melts away and the flower crown—made up of soft, orange flowers that suited him too well—never leaves his head. The air stays thick and I can’t seem to catch my breath until we go backstage. Even then, Subin’s eyes still glint at me dangerously.

Subin is the last of us to get his ears pierced. It’s because he’s the youngest, it’s because he got here last. The company is kind of frustrated with the simple studs they’re stuck with until the holes heal, even though there’s nothing anyone could do about it. So they’re all over Subin’s ass to take extra good care of them so they heal faster. And that’s how Subin gets stuck with a piercing care routine more intense than his skincare routine.

I come out of the shower one night to Subin in the living room with cotton balls and cleaning solution sitting out on the table. He’s still in his stage makeup, slumped over and exhausted-looking and it kind of breaks my heart to see. “It’s gotta be easier to do that if you can see.” I tell him, shaking some water free from my hair. “Let me?” I suggest.

He looks up at me, soft and sleepy, half-lidded. “Thank you, hyung.” He murmurs.

So I sit down behind him, tugging his pliant body easily into my lap. There is nothing burning, nothing electric in the air. It’s just heavy and warm. I push his hair aside and gently stat rubbing the cotton pad against his ear. He lets his head roll comfortably onto my shoulder, his eyes slipping closed. He’s not tempting me, he’s not challenging me—I can’t even see his sparkling eyes. I’m still having trouble breathing, though, my hands barely trembling against his skin.

It is genuine vulnerability that I have unwittingly dug up this time. Subin is so pliant and trusting in my arms and it’s something so fragile and precious that I’m afraid it could shatter at any second. I’m constantly terrified of being so trusted, equally as terrified of losing it. The air is too warm, too solid and it’s hard to breathe in, it feels like I’ve been in a sauna for too long. I’m light-headed and clammy and I still can’t take my hands off of him.

It’s the same chaste affection as always and I don’t even have to look into Subin’s sparkling and tempting eyes and my heart still picks up in my chest. I don’t want him to leave his spot on my lap. I want to be right here while he sleeps. I want him to be this open, this comfortable, this content forever and if I can give it to him I’ll happily stay. But I’m just doing what I think he deserves. I’m just doing him a favor and I can’t breathe this too heavy, too hot air forever. “You want me to take off your makeup too?” I ask anyway because I _can’t_ take my hands off of him. I can’t give up the pliant softness any more than I can ignore his sparkling eyes.

“You’re really spoiling me.” He says slowly, lowly but makes no move to get out of my lap. And _that’s_ a challenge, _that’s_ a temptation. But it doesn’t shift the entire atmosphere, it doesn’t steal my breath. My hands stay steady against his skin.

When Subin is barefaced and at least half-asleep in my arms, I push his hair back affectionately to get him back up. “Have you showered yet?” I ask quietly.

“In the morning, I promise.” He answers without opening his eyes and it feels uncomfortably close to making a deal with a stubborn child. I try not to think about that, though. He’s not a child.

Subin forces me to look down that familiar precipice, late one night the day before a day off. We’re just playing with Jaws, his eyes are not sparkling. Subin’s in a hoodie that’s probably not his (but not mine either) with the sleeves falling well past his hands and we’re both sitting on bunched-up blankets on the floor, the windows fogged up with the cold winter air. It’s one of the rare times that the dorms feel homey. I’m almost not disappointed that I don’t have the time to go visit my family tomorrow—to actually go home. There is almost some kind of home in this cramped dorm.

Subin’s all stretched out across my lap comfortably, barely looking up at me. He’s got Jaws both purring and wiggling around, ready to pounce. Jaws has grown a lot since I first saw him but I guess kittens grow fast (faster than their owners at least). I’ve got a cat toy limply hanging from one of my hands but I’ve mostly been watching Subin. Jaws is, after all, _his_ cat.

Jaws skitters across the living room after some cat toy and Subin finally turns his eyes up towards me. “It’s kind of a miracle that they let me keep Jaws, honestly.” He says softly, looking at the cat fondly. “I thought I’d have to leave him at home.”

“Fans love pets and cats don’t cause a lot of trouble.” I reason with him. Jaws stays under the coat rack on the far side of the room, curling around the pompom he caught.

“You’re kind of a miracle too.” His face heats up a pretty red at the confession and he keeps his eyes trained on Jaws. “I really thought that I’d have to take care of him all by myself but you’re always picking up my slack so…thanks.” He finishes lamely.

“We’re here to help you out, don’t worry.” I tug at the collar of his too-big hoodie to better cover up his collarbones. “Plus I like Jaws too.” The cat’s still on the other side of the room, though, and something entirely unrelated to him is simmering under our conversation. The precipice is appearing again and the air is getting heavier.

“You’re too good to me, really.” His eyes shift back to me and they’re glittering and trusting and admiring. He shifts in my lap and all it does is remind me of all the places his warm weight is resting on me.

“You’re too good to us.” I spit out hurriedly because I _need_ to put some distance between myself and this, I need to make this about _us_ and not _me_. I need to get away from this. And Subin really was such a wonderful maknae, especially when the only other boy group we really hung out with was SF9 and Chanhee was beyond the worst. It’s an honest compliment, something that Subin deserves. It’s the least I can give him as I’m clumsily and frantically trying to back myself out of this situation.

Subin just reaches his hand up to let his fingers stroke gently over my cheek. Every touch becomes a new searing burn on my skin. It doesn’t only burn, it _marks_ me. It puts every late night fantasy I’ve ever had about Subin on my face for everyone to see.

“Binnie,” I gasp. There really is too much hanging in the air. I’m choking on smoke. I’m just learning how to swim. I’m drowning. And it’s all happening in stretched-out seconds. I’m not going to make it. I’m not going to be able to back out of this one. Everything is pressing down on me, pushing me closer to the precipice. And I still can’t see the bottom. I have no faith in my leap.

He tilts his head curiously, cutely, like a cat. But it’s not innocent confusion in his expression or hanging in the air. And all the tilt does is align his face with mine. I’m being pulled down. I can’t stop it. It’s magnetic and inevitable. Subin’s fingers aren’t even pulling me down, they’re just a resting reminder on my face of my own weakness. God, does he even really know what he wants? Does he know what he’s really doing? I know what he wants, though. I’ve always know what he wants. I’ve always known that the glittering eyes and heavy air were more than my imagination and infatuation.

“Please,” I breathe out—a dying man’s last request. I don’t even know what I want, though. I’m just begging. And in the moment I could be begging for him to stop, to speed up, to let me go. All that keeps rushing through my head over the deafening pounding my own heartbeat is “please, I’m only human.” And I am and I’ve resisted so long and I’ve tried my best and we all eventually succumb to the forces of the universe. It’s inevitable. This draw is inevitable.

“Whoa,” comes Hanse’s stunned and nasally voice. “Yike.” He snorts, frozen in his bedroom doorway. Subin’s still in my lap, hand resting on my cheek. I’m obviously leaning down towards him. The whole thing is obvious. It’s obvious. It’s really burned on my face. “Big yike.” Hanse repeats but he’s already lost interest, breezing into the kitchen now that he’s got his future blackmail material.

Subin lets his hand drop from my face. The air clears. But Subin’s curious and inviting face morphs into a pleased and dark smile. And when he opens his mouth to say something my eyes are unwittingly drawn to his prominent canine, glinting in the warm light of the living room. And I get it. I’m fucked. I’m thoroughly fucked.

The “never have I ever” game wasn’t just for the cameras. It was something we did whenever Seungsik or Seungwoo were too tipsy or exhausted or stressed to make good decisions anymore. It’s part team bonding and part future blackmail material (especially, _especially_ when Hanse is staring us down, dead sober and plotting). The game we played in front of the cameras was entirely for the cameras, though. It was so far removed from how we normally played it felt like an entirely different game. No one was drinking, no one was asking any good questions, no one was really having fun. By the time we get to the only _fun_ question, which was only barely fun to begin with, we all have to watch Seungsik stare Seungwoo down and say that he’s never had a crush like we believe him. It’s near impossible.

We play “never have I ever” again, without the cameras, for real when the weather is too shitty to actually go out. And if Subin gets half a mouthful of soju or a sip of beer here or there none of us say anything about it. We’re staying in the dorms and Victon is one and all. We’re not gonna exclude the baby from this precious bonding experience because he’s still a couple months away from twenty.

Byungchan had curled all his long, gangly limbs into Sejun’s lap at some point in the game. Seungwoo was leaning heavily on Seungsik and answering most of the questions in his aegyo voice, probably unintentionally. Hanse was backed into the wall farthest away from where Jaws was keeping himself occupied with some string. And Subin was pressed against my side, his arm curled around mine, flushed a pretty pink and clearly not entirely sober. (I’d never felt more responsible for Subin and trusted myself less in my entire life.)

“Never have I ever fucked around with another trainee.” Hanse announces with a sly and knowing smile. Everyone but him, me and Subin knock back their drinks.

“I’ve been a trainee for like a _really_ fucking long time.” Seungwoo offers as some kind of explanation. But Hanse isn’t looking for explanations or long stories. He’s looking for confessions. He’s just looking for something to vaguely and casually reference when our manager is around to see us sweat. I’m glad I’m not the one he’s set his sights on for once, though.

Byungchan eyes Subin’s dwindling drink and the pink on his cheeks maliciously. “Never have I ever been kissed.” He throws a softball, hoping to knock Subin out.

But he doesn’t drink. Instead, his cheeks flame up bright red and he buries his face in my arm as the rest of us take a drink. All Hanse does is swirl his glass around like he didn’t hear Byungchan and he doesn’t drink either—which could mean anything honestly—and I don’t have the brain power to try to decipher it with a flustered Subin pressed into me. So I curl my arm around Subin’s waist instead.

And the thought of Subin— _Subin_ , who steals my breath away and makes my palms sweat and _implies_ things that leave me awake and tortured at night—having never even been _kissed_ punches the breath right out of me. All his teasing. All his glinting eyes, dark smiles, making me breathe hot, heavy air. Always acting like he _knows_ that he’s the center of my life. Always acting so confident and self-assured. Always so sure that he was wanted. And no one had even kissed him before. I was so fucked.

There’s still raindrops clinging to the windows and the smell of wet asphalt lingering in our dorms when Subin comes into my room in the afternoon. It was a day off and I wanted to be interesting and do something but I was just so exhausted and a little bit hungover so I wasted most of the day sleeping and watching movies on Byungchan’s laptop. “Hyung?” I hear tentatively from my doorway. Subin’s hair is still messy and soft and he’s in a too-big sweatshirt, hiding his hands in the sleeves.

It’s breathtaking in a way that isn’t calculated and I wish the sun was warmer and brighter to light him up better. “Yeah?” I sit upright on my bed.

“I think I’m finally ready to talk about it.” With the bashful and alluring look on his face I’m forced back to the backseat of our van, his eyes sparkling, the night where I took the easy way out. There isn’t a way out this time. There hasn’t been for a long time.

“Yeah, come here.” I make room on my bed for him. I don’t think about making the first move, about grabbing him and settling him down here, about keeping him close. I didn’t start this and the ball has never been in my court.

He sits delicately at the edge of my bed and I really don’t know if the ball is in his court either with him looking so nervous, picking at the skin around his nails. “So…I’ve never been kissed.” He finally breathes out.

“Byungchan got that out of you last night.” I confirm, letting my hand drift closer to his.

“Oh…” He trails off. “You remember?”

“Yeah,” I laugh nervously, “none of us were like _plastered_.”

“Well, I don’t want my first kiss anymore. I’m sick of being the only one—”

“Look, I don’t think that Hanse has ever been kissed either. It’s not a bad thing, you’re still young.” I try to comfort him.

“I’m not going to be young forever, though. Being all innocent isn’t cute anymore now that I’m almost twenty.” His eyes are still firmly glued to his hands but his voice is strong and resolute.

“I think the fans would disagree.” I would also disagree but that gets stuck in my throat.

“I don’t care, _I_ just want to get rid of it.” He whines. “So…will you teach me how to kiss?” He forces out.

“Teach you how to kiss?” I repeat, stunned.

“Yeah, you’re the only one I trust.” It doesn’t look like he really trusts anyone, though, not looking up from his hands, curled into himself.

“So if I kiss you just to teach you how to kiss, you’ll count _that_ as your first kiss?” I prod because I finally see where I can make a move for once.

“I don’t know,” he sputters, “I guess…”

“Because taking your first kiss is pretty serious.” I taunt. “What happens when the Alices ask about your first kiss and I’m standing _right there_ next to you on stage?” I murmur, leaning into where he’s curled himself up.

His face is bright red now, all the way up to his ears but he finally looks up at me. There’s the glittering trust I’m used to but it’s lit by a _fire_ this time, fierce determination burning through his eyes. “We wouldn’t tell them anyway.” It’s a challenge, it really is, the way he holds my gaze.

“But you’d think about me? You’d think about this, here?” And I’m not backing down or giving in. I challenge him right back because I really want to give him every opportunity to back out, to decide what he really, _really_ wants.

“Only if you actually kiss me.” It’s the unwavering gaze and the palpable electricity in the air and the blatant challenge that makes something click in my brain. He _does_ want this and he _knows_ what he wants.

So I duck my head down to meet his, winding my hand gently around the nape of his neck and pull him in for a kiss I barely get to taste. Our lips brush once and I _feel_ Subin suck in a breath and tense up against me. And then I’m gone because I won’t give him what he wants until he asks for it. I can tease him first, though.

“That didn’t teach me anything.” He whines, chasing my lips.

“Do you want me to teach you or do you want to get rid of your first kiss?” I prompt. “Tell hyung the truth.”

His pupils are blown wide, his eyes full of sparkling galaxies and unwavering determination where they meet mine. “I just want to kiss you.” He finally admits.

And that’s all I wanted really, a concrete admission that he wants this, that he wants _me_. So I twine my fingers in his hair and pull him back down. “All you had to do was ask.” I breathe against his lips. He tugs me forward the last couple of centimeters and holds me there by the front of my shirt. The kiss is frantic, sitting on years of build-up. Subin’s still learning how to breathe through the kiss, determined not to leave my lips for even a second.

He slides his hands from my shirt to resting on my shoulders, climbing into my lap when he’s convinced I won’t back away anymore. And I feel his labored, little puffs of breath against my face and his soft lips are imploring and eager against mine. He’s clearly never been kissed before but the inexperience is cute on him.

I pull him flush against me, settling him in my lap and it gets a half strangled gasp out of him that’s so, so, so sweet. And that’s what finally gets him to take his lips off of mine, panting heavily into my collarbone. “I wanted to kiss you for so long but you always backed off at the last second, I never knew if I’d get to.” He confesses and the bashful whisper sounds like a _confession_ , sounds like something that’s sat on his chest for a long, long time.

“I never knew what you really wanted, baby, never wanted to make a move until I was sure.” 

“How were you not sure?” He cries. “How were you not sure until ‘teach me how to kiss, hyung’?” He mocks.

“I didn’t want ‘teach me how to kiss,’” I explain, “I just wanted ‘I want this,’ I just wanted explicit consent.” I run a soothing hand up the back of his neck into his hair.

“That’s so embarrassing.” He bats at my chest weakly. “That’s the most embarrassing thing I’ve ever done, Channie.” And I see the quick flick of his eyes, gauging my reaction at the nickname, at the missing honorific.

I don’t have one because in this empty room, away from everyone else the few years between us only feels like a few years. Subin fits so well in my arms and his lips look so cute kiss-swollen like this and he’s not so delicate that he’ll shatter under my touch. And he knows what he wants and it’s honestly, honestly okay to give it to him. “You gotta ask for what you want, baby.”

And he presses so easily into my hold, his whole body finding a perfect fit with mine. “I like ‘Binnie’ a whole lot,” he whispers, “but I think I like ‘baby’ more.” And he tilts his head up to let his sparkling, shining, glittering, enchanting eyes meet mine. And they’re lit up with firey determination and vulnerable trust and open, palpable affection and everything else that always scared me over the years. But they’re not as easily broken as precious jewels and all the light they reflect doesn’t just come from the sun.

The one thing I always neglected to notice was that his eyes shone so bright because _Subin_ shone so bright—bright enough to light up the bottom of the precipice he always pushed me towards and, god, it was beautiful down here.

**Author's Note:**

> hanse gets more and more appearances the longer this goes on bc i really never wanted to stop writing him, love that weird little man  
> hmu on [tumblr](angelinmyheartt.tumblr.com) [cc](https://curiouscat.me/Nitzer)


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